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WAR VERSES 




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The Tri-Color 



WAR VERSES 

1917-1918 

BY 
STEPHEN PELL 

S. S. U. No. 5—646 
V. S. A. A. S. 

(With French Army) 



3 



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COPYRIGHT, 1919, BT 

STEPHEN PELL 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 

TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 

INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 



©CI.A525732 

m 31 1919 



TO THE SPLENDID WOMEN OF 

MRS. DALY'S UNIT 

EQUIPE AMERICAINE 

AUTO. CHIR. NO. 7 

AUX ARMEES FRANC AIS 

AND MORE ESPECIALLY THE 

EQUIPE DE ANGICOURT 

M. N.-D., E. A. F., B. E., D.W., A. F. & E. S. 

WHO TURNED, WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN FOR 
ME A MONTH OF PAIN AND SUFFERING AND 
LONELINESS, INTO ONE OF EASE AND HAPPI- 
NESS, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS MOST GRATE- 
FULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TheTri-Color 3 

The Canadian Captain Speaks . 5 

"A Toast to the Chasseurs" . . 8 

The Vailly Road 11 

Cheer Up 15 

Great Inventions 20 

Chemin Des Dames 24 

Le Cafard 27 

The Priest 30 

Villette 33 

The Ravitaillement Man ... 36 

The Chasseurs 40 

To"X" 44 



Conte7its 

PAGE 

The " Embusque " 47 

The Heart of the Colonel . .51 
The Cathedral of Soissons . . 53 

Mima and Carlotta 57 

Pansements 61 

"Awaiting Transportation " . .64 



WAR VERSES 



THE TRI-COLOR 

The Autumn wind is mellow. 

The fields are brown and yellow, 
And everywhere are poppies, through- 
out the fair expanse. 
Brilliant scarlet poppies. 
Cruel scarlet poppies. 

They typify the broken hearts that 
haunt the homes of France, 



We see the airplanes soaring. 

We hear the big guns roaring. 
They tell us there is warring in this 
Country of Romance; 



4 War Verses 1917-1918 

And always there are crosses, 
White, pathetic crosses: 

The little wooden crosses that fill 
the fields of France. 



The blue cornflower growing 
Sedate amidst the sowing. 
The busy, tired Poilu passes by with 
but a glance. 
To me they are the maidens, 
The million wistful maidens; 

Who'll never bear a warrior to 
fight the fights of France! 
— St Nicholas du Port, September, 1917, 



THE CANADIAN CAPTAIN 
SPEAKS 

There were five of us lived in a dugout, 
Forty feet under the ground. 

We roasted the Kasier and toasted 
the King, 
And passed the bottle around. 

(Two were gassed and one was shot, 
And one of the crowd was drowned.) 

There was Jimmy Flagg from Ottawa 
And Kitchin from Sault Marie, 

Parsons, a Yank from the State of 
Maine 
And Bud from the old Countree, 



6 War Verses 1917-1918 

We all came out with the "Princess 
Pats." 

(The rest of the Crowd was Me!) 

We talked of our girls, we talked of 
our work, 
(The oldest was twenty-four) 
And we planned the "Getting To- 
gether, " 
Back home there, after the War. 
All of the crowd are gone but me. 
And I'm tired and sick and sore. 

For what is the use of the cross I wear, 
Or my bars or my Captain's pay. 

Or the letter I got from "Pat" herself 
For stopping a shell one day. 

When the fellows I wanted to play 
with — 
Will never be there to play? 



War Verses 1917-1918 7 

For the things one thinks are going 
to count, 

They somehow are pretty small. 
When you measure them up with 

THE MIGHT HAVE BEEN, 
And it doesn't seem fair at all, 
That they should be buried out there 
in the mud — 

Awaiting the Trumpet Call. 
— St Remi-Aisne, December, 1917, 



"A TOAST TO THE CHASSEURS" 

We've seen the Blue Devils in action, 
We've seen the Blue Devils at play. 

We've seen the Blue Devils go over 
the top, 
Happy and cheerful and gay. 

We've seen them come out of the 
trenches, 

Wounded and bleeding and faint; 
With never a cry or a whimper. 

Never a word of complaint. 

We've carried them down from the 
abris. 
To hospitals miles in the rear, 



War Verses 1917-1918 9 

Over roads that were shell torn and 
rutted. 
But never a sigh or a tear. 

We've seen their dead after a battle. 
With every man's face to the foe. 

And our hearts have gone sick within 
us. 
To see our brave comrades go. 

But, a curious fancy comes to me, 
That a Chasseur who dies in a fight. 

Has a wee bit of Heaven that's all 
of his own, 
With gaiety, laughter and light. 

Like the Heaven reserved for our 
Red Men, 
(Good hunting and plenty of game) 



10 War Verses 1917-1918 

Where a man who has lived and died 
like a man. 
Goes on forever the same. 

I am proud of my Spanish War 

ribbons, 

I am proud of my French Four- 

ragere, 

But the proudest of all my possessions, 

Is the little blue "Beret" I wear. 

So here's to our Grand Old Division! 

Which is "Somewhere Out There 
In The Snow"; 
Here's to the 66th Chasseurs Alpins! 

And here's to our General-Brissaud ! 
— St. Remi'Aisne, January 1, 1918, 



THE VAILLY ROAD 

There's a winding road through 

Vailly, 
Running up from Braine, 
Past the woods of Chassemy 
Across the River Aisne, 
And up the hill to Hameret — 
Out on the Bascule Plain. 



I knew the road before the war, 
That far-off, happy day. 
One saw the peasants in the fields. 
The children at their play, 
The women at the cottage door 
Were smiling, cheerful, gay. 
11 



n War Verses 1917-1918 

And now the road to Vailly 

Is rutted, gutted, worn. 

The trees that stood on either side 

Are battered, tattered, torn. 

The little roseclad cottages 

Are shattered, scattered, gone. 



Along the road to Vailly 
Is ruin, waste and wrack, 
It's felt the big shells bursting- 
It's heard the rifles crack. 
As foot by foot we conquered 
And forced the vandal back. 



I've seen the road at midnight, 
Black shadows everywhere. 
The great Tanks going forward, 



War Verses 1917-1918 13 

The sudden shocking glare 
Of shrapnel bursting overhead, 
While gas shells taint the air. 



Big guns and ambulances; 
Troops marching to the fight, 
Long trains of ammunition. 
Pack mules to left and right. 
And all that feeds an army. 
Goes groping through the night. 



IVe seen the road at dawning, 
The wounded like a flood 
Came pouring from the battle. 
Covered with clay and blood; 
In twos and tens and hundreds. 
Staggering through the mud. 



14 War Verses 1917-1918 

French "Poilu," English "Tommy," 
Irish and Kilted "Scot," 
Black Senegalese and Arab 
Have left their bones to rot 
Along the road to Vailly, 
And made a hallowed spot. 
— Somewhere in France, December 17, 
1917. 



CHEER UP! 

In every mile of the trenches, 

From Switzerland up to the Sea, 
We're getting the Boches' measure, 

(He knows it as well as we !) 
We're learning to play the Boches* 
game 
And play it better than he! 

So Cheer Up, **Back There." 

English, Scotch and Irish, 
Frenchmen and Portuguese, 

Yanks, Canucks and Welchmen, 
Anzacs and Tonkinese, 

Belgians, Sikhs and Arabs, 
Men from the Seven Seas, 
Are at it "Out Here." 

15 



16 War Verses 1917-1918 

We're all of us killing Germans — 
We're getting them two for one. 

We know that with time and patience 
We'll have the Boche on the run. 

And the World will be safe forever; 
Safe from the Swineish Hun, 

So Buck Up, "Back There." 



Don't think that the job is easy, 
To freeze in a trench all night — 

To starve in a German Prison — 
To fall from a two-mile height, 

To lose a leg or part of your face 
In a long range, big gun fight. 

But, All's Well, "Out Here." 

And God! How you long for your 
woman. 
(Good or bad, it's all the same!) 



War Verses 1917-1918 17 

The smell of her hair, the feel of her 
arms. 
To hear her whisper your name! 
Chasing lice with a pidgeon lamp, 
Is Our Prineipial Indoor Game — 
You bathe "Back There." 

What of the fellows we've buried 

In mud that was up to the knee? 
What of the children and babes at 
the breast 
Who've died in the open sea? 
What of the thousands of cripples 
And those who will never see? 
We remember "Out Here." 



And think of the women and tender 
girls. 
Who've felt the feel of the Beast— 



18 War Verses 1917-1918 

Whose bodies were tainted forever, 

Wlien the Carrion met for the feast. 

Give heed to their cry for vengeance! 

Give heed to that Cry, at least! 

Remember them " Back 

There." 

Is our work to be all for nothing? 

Our sacrifice all in vain? 
Shall they swindle the world with a 
Prussian Peace? 
Can a Treaty remove the Stain 
Of Rape and Robbery, Murder and 
Lies, 
'Til they're ready to start again? 
Must our children come "Out 
Here"? 

No ! This is no time for Parleys 
For he knows as well as we — 



War Verses 1917-1918 19 

That in every mile of the Trenches, 
From Switzerland up to the Sea. 
We've learned to play the Boches' 
game. 
And play it better than he! 

SO CHEER UP, "BACK 
THERE." 
— St, Remi'Aisne, 



GREAT INVENTIONS 

The three great inventions the war 
has produced 
To ease a poor man of his pains. 
To keep his morale at one hundred 
per cent, 
Are Pinard, Permish', and Mar- 
raines ! 



When you come from the trenches 

cold, hungry and wet, 

Or have driven all night in your car. 

There's nothing like putting right 

under your belt 

A quart (more or less) of Pinard 1 

20 








^>-//y>J^, 



On ''permission' 

(Pinard and a Marraine) 



War Verses 1917-1918 21 

Sometimes it's sour and sometimes 
it's sweet, 
It varies from purple to jet. 
But a large cup or two puts new life 
into you, 
And a bidon full makes you forget ! 

When you've slept in your clothes for 
a fortnight or more, 
In a dirty cantonment or shed. 
When you've struggled with cooties 
and totos and fleas. 
You know that "permission's' 
ahead. 



When you blush every time that you 
think of your neck. 
Just what keeps you going and 
keen? 



22 War Verses 1917-1918 

The thought that next day or next 
week or next month, 
You'll be rested and mended and 
clean ! 

And when on permission what cheers 
you the most? 
Is it cocktails or beer or cham- 
pagne? 
Not at all! It's the girl you've been 
dreaming about. 
Your Dear Little Angel Marraine! 

She gets all your money and most of 
your time. 
And then sees you oiff at the train. 
With a tear in her eye and your roll 
in her sock. 
And a prayer that you'll soon come 
again! 



War Verses 1917-1918 23 

And that's why each Poihi will swear 
on his life, 
That the greatest inventions by far. 
Evolved in these long years of struggle 
and strife, 
Are Marraines, Permish', and 
Pinard ! 
— Villette, Marne, January 20, 1919, 



CHEMIN DES DAMES 

Chemin des Dames, "The Ladies' 
Way" 

Built by a King of ancient France. 
What memories of a by gone day 

The very name brings into play. 
Of bold intrigue and sweet romance. 

Of Gallants brave and Ladies gay. 

Of posting chaise and sedan chair. 
Of waving plume and gleaming 
lance, 
Of paint and patches, powered hair. 

Of silk and satin, maidens fair. 
And all that went with Royal France 
When King and Queen and Court 
were there ! 



War Verses 1917-1918 25 

From avions giant bombs have 
crashed 
Upon the road, great tanks have 
smashed 
And mashed their way across its face 

'Til there is hardly left a trace 
Of what was once the Ladies' Way. 

One scarce can find the road to-day. 
Shovel and pick and shot and shell 
Have done their work and done it 
well. 



Chemin des Dames, "The Ladies' 
Way," 
Ah ! There's a Heritage for France ! 
The memory will last for aye. 

Of those who fought that autumn 
day. 



26 War Verses 1917-1918 

When Brissaud's Chasseurs led the 
dance 
Of Death across the "Ladies' Way." 
Through gas and fire anl bursting 
shell, 
A lifting barrage, quick advance. 
Zouave and Chasseur charging Hell 
O'er trench and wire, ah ! Who can 
tell 
The tale of those who died for France 
The day that Fort Malmaison fell! 
— Fisme, Marne, February 1, 1918. 



LE CAFARD. . . . 

When you hate the War and you hate 
your work, 

And you'd welcome a German shell. 
That would break at your feet or over 
your head 

And blow your soul to Hell. 
When you hate your Chief and you 
hate your Pals 

And you curse yourself to sleep. 
After smoking a hundred cigarettes, 

Or counting a million sheep! 
When you hate the sight of a uniform 

Or the sound of an aeroplane. 
And the thought of a greasy motor car 

Just fills your heart with pain. 

27 



28 War Verses 1917-1918 

When you look at the river with long- 
ing, 
Or sneak for your piece a load, 
(Though you know danined well that 
in War times 
A IVIAN can't take THAT road). 
When you hate the bark of a soixante 
quinze 
And loathe the sight of a gun, 
You can bet ten francs to a demi sou 
You've got "Le Cafard" my son! 

It generally comes when you're En 
Repos, 
And you haven't enough to do. 
You've hit the Pinard a bit too hard 

And it's left you a trifle blue. 
The clouds that gather are darker 
than dark. 
And the day gets blacker than black ; 



War Verses 1917-1918 29 

You think of your sins both little and 
big, 
For a thousand eons back. 
The girls you've kissed and the girls 
you've missed 
Go shooting across your brain. 
You long for the sight of a powdered 
nose 
And an evening gown again. 
You're tired of looking at soldiers — 

You're sick of the khaki shirt — 
You sigh for the sound of a woman's 
voice. 
And the swish of a silken skirt. 
When the things that you've done 

that you shouldn't — • 
And the things that you've left undone. 
Are racking your soul into fragments 

You've got "Le Cafard" my son! 
— La Villette, February -4, 1918, 



THE PRIEST 

I saw him first in the Rue Royale 
And was struck by his kind old 
face — 
With his sable robe and golden cross 

And air of delicate grace. 
He greeted the poorest girl of the 
streets 
And the greatest Dame of the land, 
With the same sad smile and a gentle 
nod 
And a friendly wave of the hand. 
I thought of the grand old Cardinals 
Who lived in the long ago: 

30 



War Verses 1917-1918 31 

Whose stories are part of the Stories 
of France — 
And their lives in their great 
Chateaux. 



And then came the fight for Malmai- 
son, 

I saw my Priest again, 
With gas mask and blue steel helmet, 

Standing alone in the rain. 
He stood at a crowded cross roads 

In a mud bespattered gown. 
The shells were falling about him 

As the wounded came struggling 
down. 

His own Chasseurs and Poilus, 

Arabs and Senegalese, 
For each a smile and a cigarette, 



32 War Verses 1917-1918 

And a cheery, "Bonne chance, mon 
fils," 
And a wave to me as I passed him — 

(I was driving an ambulance). 
And the thought was always before 
me, 
There stands the SPIRIT OF 
FRANCE! 
Simple and brave and courageous, 

Gentle and debonaire, — 
The Cause of the Church is surely safe 
With men like Him Out There! 
—La Tilley, February, 1918. 



VILLETTE 

A charming little town is Villette, 
The houses tumbled down in 
Villette, 
Our rooms are large and airy — 

And of window panes we've nary 
Got a one, to keep the rain out in 
Villette. 

Our quarters they are warm in 
Villette, 
With friendly fleas they swarm in 
Villette. 
Arrangements sanitary. 

They are primitive. Oh ! Very — 
And the walk across the garden's 
rather wet ! 

33 



34 War Verses 1917-1918 

Life is very, very quiet in Villette, 
A call would cause a riot in Villette. 

We eat and sleep and rest 
And do our level best, 

Not to overwork ourselves in Villette. 

The streets are very dirty in Villette, 
The " Jeunne Filles" they are flirty 
in Villette. 
But alas! How very sad. 

Rumor says they are "malade," 
So, it's EYES FRONT ! FORWARD 
MARCH! in Villette. 

When Michel goes on Permish' from 
Villette. 
How we curse at every dish in 
Villette, 
At camouflaging meat 

He is very hard to beat. 
And Golly! How we eat in Villette. 



War Verses 1917-1918 35 

Twice a week we have a drill in 
Villette. 
It helps the time to kill in Villette. 
We hold our sides and laugh 

At our non-commissioned staff. 
And the orders that they give in 
Villette. 

We would gladly say farewell to 
Villette. 
To the dirt and fleas and smell of 
Villette. 
We should like to have a chance 

At some other Villes of France, 
Than "St. Remy by the Sewer" and 

Villette. 
—La Villette, February, 1917, 



THE RAVITAILLEMENT MAN 

In all the bloomin' Army that's a 
fightin' of the Boche. 
All the way from General Petain 
down to me, 
There's none whose work is harder 
than the Ravitaillement Man — 
And no one does a better job than 
he! 

He wears a dented helmet and a gas 
mask romid his neck. 
And a faded uniform that once was 
blue, — 







^ Ravitaillement Man 



War Verses 1917-1918 37 

But he gets the ammunition to the 
popping Mitrailleuse, 
And he gets the steamin' soup to 
me and you ! 



His work is mostly after dark along 
a crowded road. 
With the shadows from the star 
shells fallin' strange. 
And he doesn't show a light as he 
struggles through the night, 
For he knows the sneakin' Boche 
has got his range ! 



When eclat's fallin' round us and 
some fellow hollers "Gas"! 
We "heroes" dust for cover as a 
rule. 



38 War Verses 1917-1918 

But there ain't no friendly abri for the 
Ravitaillement Man — 
He's got to stay and 'tend a kickin' 
mule! 



And it ain't no cheery picnic to be 
sittin' in the rain. 
With a ton of high explosives for a 
seat, 
And shrapnel burstin' over and an 
ammunition train, 
Explodin' up the road, a hundred 
feet! 



And so I doffs my chapeau to the 
Ravitaillement Man, 
For all the way from Petain down 
to me. 



War Verses 1917-1918 39 

(Exceptin' of the Poilu in the very 

front line trench) 
There's no one does a better job 

than he ! 
—La Villette, February 16, 1918. 



THE CHASSEURS 

Would that 1 could paint a picture. 

Of the Chasseur as we know him, 
The Chasseur in the trenches 

Midst the mud and ice and snow. 
The Chasseurs we have carried 

Torn and shattered from the battle. 
The Chasseur on permission, 

The Chasseur en repos'. 

It takes a better pen than mine 

To really tell the story 
Of the gallant Chasseur Alpin, 

Tender, brave, and debonaire. 
Laughing as he leaves the trenches 

On the path that leads to glory, 

40 



War Verses 1917-1918 41 

Facing gas and shell and wire, 

Croix de Bois, or Croix de Guerre! 

In the crowded first aid abri 

Lying on his blood soaked stretcher. 
Cold and wet and black with powder. 

Worn and faint with wound and 
burn. 
Waiting for the tired surgeons 

(Bare of arm and splashed with 
scarlet). 
Cheery whispers to each other. 

Jesting when it comes their turn! 

Cut and slashed and patched and 
bandaged. 
Packed into our ambulances 
Over shell holes, ruts and debris, 
(Would that we could ease their 
way). 



42 War Verses 1917-1918 

"Arrives" are falling round us 
Making flashes in the darkness, 

Passing troops and guns and wagons — 
Praying for the light of day. 

When we reach our destination 

(Some have died and some are 
dying) 
Lift them gently from the stetchers, 
Wish the conscious ones "Bonne 
Chance. " 
Not a word of blame or censure — 

Just a stricken hero sighing. 
When you try to show your pity, 
"Mais Monsieur, c'est pour la 
France." 

When the big attack is over, 

"Holding" troops come to the 
trenches — 



War Verses 1917-1918 43 

And the weary, fighting Chasseurs 
(Bearded filthy, caked with clay), 

March away for rest and patching 
(Comrades gone are soon forgot- 
ten!), 

Pinard, games and songs and laughter, 
Turn the night-time into day. 

Never finished 



TO "X" . . . 

I found a violet near a trench to-day, 

A Boche plane soaring proudly in 

the sky 

Tells me that Fear and Hate and 

Death are nigh, 

Tells me that War is not so far away. 

In front the constant booming of the 
guns. 
Behind are peasants sowing fields 
of grain, 
And all about is struggle, striving, 
strain — 
The Sense of War one's better na- 
ture stuns. 

44 



War Verses 1917-1918 45 

But, Spring is here and I would fain 
forget 
The awful crash and rattle of the 
fight, 
And only think of play and youth 
and light, — 
And of my Heart's Desire, my love, 
and yet — 

How can I take myself away from me? 
I have my duty here, my work to 
do, 
But know. Dear Child, my thoughts 
are all of you 
And nothing else seems aught but 
travesty. 

But, Peace will come at last and then, 
perchance, 
We two may take our Love and run 
away — 



46 War Verses 1917-1918 

To some Fair spot where we may 
idly stray. 
Forgetting all that war has meant 
to France — 
And meant to us who've given of our 
best 
To play our part in this Great 
Tragedy, 
Let's seek forgetfulness in Arcady 
Where we may love and in our Love 
find rest. 



THE"EMBUSQUE" 

He never heard a mitrailleuse, 

He never heard a shell. 
He never heard a Boche plane over- 
head. 
He never saw a barrage 
And he never knew the Hell, 

Of sorting out the wounded from 
the dead. 

He never knew how shrapnel breaks. 

Or how a bullet sings — 
He never got a whiff of poison gas. 

But, in a Captain's uniform. 
With braid and bars and things. 

See better men Salute him as they 



pass! 



47 



48 War Verses 1917-1918 

He never saw a front line trench, 
With mud and slush and ice, 

Or slept in inky abris, foul with dirt, 
With fifty sweating Poilus. 

Where you fight with fleas and lice. 
And pick the merry Toto from your 
shirt. 

He never drove a motor car. 
Along a shell-swept road, 
He never saw a star shell shining 
bright, 
But, he struts the streets of Paris, 
In a service uniform, 

And he eats a corking dinner every 
night. 

The Girl He Left Behind Him, 

Wears proudly near her heart, 
A picture of her Hero far away. 



War Verses 1917-1918 49 

She think he's in the trenches 
Playing well a soldier's part, 

And killing slews of Germans every 
day. 

I wonder if she'll ever know, 

That he was in the rear, 
That he was safe in Paris doing work 

That any clever girl could do. 
I wonder if she'll hear 

That he was but a blooming Office 
Clerk. 

For when the War is over, 

And the fighting men go Home, 
He'll surely march as proudly as the 
rest. 
With a sword (he's never carried) 
And a pistol (never used) 

And a "Foreign Service Medal" on 
his breast. 



50 War Verses 1917-1918 

So, three cheers for the Embusque, 
(God knows ! I'd like to boot him) 
Of all our war time slackers, he's the 
worst. 
He dresses like a soldier. 
While better men salute him, 
And never guess his Motto! 
SAFETY FIRST! 
—La Villette, April 17, 1918. 



THE HEART OF THE COLONEL. 

I watched an avion in flight, 

It seemed a giant dragon fly. 
And then I saw a shrapnel burst, 
And fluttering downward from the 
sky. 
It came to Earth a Broken Thing, 
A mass of flame and smoke and 
fire — 
Of blistering paint and crumbling 
wing. 
Of cracking frame and snapping 
wire. 

It fell beyond our furthest line, 
In No-Man's Land, where none 
may fare, 

51 



52 War Verses 1917-1918 

And there it lies wrecked, smashed 
supine 
And all my heart is lying there. 
For what is left in Life for me 

When Faith and Hope and Love 
are done? 
When, burned and mangled over 
there. 
Lies what was once my only Son. 

I have my work, my part to play. 

The welfare of my Regiment, 
And I must show a smiling face 

And only sorrow in my tent — 
For 'tis my fate to be of those 

Poor mortals singled out by Chance 
To stand erect and proudly say, 

"I've given of my all, FOR 
FRANCE"! 
—ia Villette, April W, 1918. 



THE CATHEDRAL OF SOISSONS 

Above the sleepy city. 

Dreaming not of its fate, 
It stood throughout the ages 

Splendid, inviolate. 
It had heard the prayers of Saint 
Louis, 

It had felt the bended knee 
Of the Virgin Maid of Orleans 

In her proud humility. 

Siege and storm and battle. 

And the withering Hand of Time, 
But mellowed its ancient grandeur 

And left it serene, sublime. 

53 



54 War Verses 1917-1918 

Then! Then came the German 
Armies, 

The "Chosen People of God"! 
And one of Christ's great Temples 

Died at the Kaiser's nod! 



Battered by bomb and bullet, 

Scarred by fire and shell. 
Roof tree and arches broken 

And lying just as they fell. 
Golden glass and mosaic. 

Marble and plaster and slate,— 
Crowding the vaulted Chancel, 

A symbol of Prussian Hate. 

It fills one's brain with sorrow. 
It fills one's heart with pain — 

To feel that the Great Cathedral 
Never will rise again. 



War Verses 1917-1918 55 

But, above the wreck and the ruin, 
Tall and straight as a lance 

The tower is looming proudly — 
Proud as the Soul of France! 



It stands erect in its Glory, 

Shattered and tattered and torn. 
To tell to the World the story. 

To tell to the still Unborn, 
The Tale of the Hate of the Vandal— 

The Tale of the Hate of the Hun, 
For all that is written in beauty. 

And He asks for a "Place in the 
Sun"! 



He who in wilful envy, 

He who in vulgar spite, 
Is robbing the world of its treasures 

He asks for a place "In the Light"! 



56 War Verses 1917-1918 

Drive him back to the Darkness — 
The Darkness from whence he came 

There to nourish his Malice, 
To wallow there in his Shame! 

— Fontenoy, Aisne, May 1, 1918. 




The Ruins of the Cathedral af Soissou.s 



MIMA AND CARLOTTA 

We sat in the back of the Coloners 
ear, 
A slip of a girl and I, 
While the big bombs crashed, the 
cannon flashed. 
And shrapnel broke in the sky. 



She looked like a Nun in her nurse's 
gown. 
Blue veil and cross of red, 
As the mitrailleuse popped right and 
left. 
At an avion overhead. 

57 



58 War Verses 1917-1918 

We should have been safe in an abri, 
But the moon was shining bright, 
And she wanted a glimpse at the Ger- 
man planes 
Which were somewhere there in the 
night. 



So we chatted of frills in Anglo- 
French, 
Of W^omen and Work and War, 
But, alas! She was only a slip of a 
girl, 
And I was Forty-Four! 

Over the trenches the star shells flared 
As we watched the searchlights 
play— 

And all the while I was many a mile — 
And twenty years away! 



War Verses 1917-1918 59 

I was sitting beneath a big palm tree. 

With a tiny slip of a girl. 
The moon on the Bay was gold and 
grey. 

And the sky was Mother of Pearl. 

We laughed at the lights from the 
battle fleet, 
Which was anchored close to the 
shore. 
And little we cared for the Rules of 
the Game, 
And little we cared for the War! 

I should have been safe on my ship 

that night. 

She shouldn't have been with me! 

But her eyes shone bright in the pale 

moonlight. 

And there was the big palm tree! 



60 War Verses 1917-1918 

We watched the signals flash through 
the dark. 
And watched the searchlights play. 
And laughed when the bugles sounded 
Taps, 
And laughed at Reveille! 

For in Anglo-Spanish we whispered 
there. 
Of Women and Work and Frills! 
'Til the Moon sank deep in the west- 
ern sky, 
And the Dawn came over the Hills ! 

l' ENVOI 

A Moon is a Moon and a Girl is a Girl, 
And a War is always a War, 

But, Oh ! The different point of view. 

Of Twenty and Forty-Four! 
—Royalieu, May SO, 1918. 



PANSEMENTS 

I do not like the creepy sound. 

Of bullets as they sing. 
And bits of eclat falling round 

Are not a pleasant thing. 
I do not like the noise of shells 

When bursting overhead, 
I do not like the awful smells 

Of Boche and horses dead. 
I do not like the mustard gas 

That makes you sneeze and cry, 
I do not like the sight of wounds, 

I hate to see men die. 

But worst of all are "pansements, 
Those cruel, wicked "pansements." 

61 



62 War Verses 1917-1918 

They put you on a table, where you 

yell and scream with pain. 
And as they cut and slash you, 
And slice and pound and mash you, 
You hear the surgeon saying: "I 
think it's going to rain." 



I do not like the winter's mud, 

I do not like the cold, 
I do not like the sight of blood. 

Or dead men, ten days old. 
I do not like the little fleas 

That bite you on the back, 
The lice that crawl about your knees. 

The totos small and black, 
I do not like the snow and ice, 

I think I've had my share. 
In fact, there isn't much that's nice 

About this blooming Guerre. 



ABONDANCE OE SOINS NE NUJT PA<^! 



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/ X 



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ME in the hospital at Angicourt 



War Verses 1917-1918 63 

But worse of all are "pansements," 
Those tearing, painful "pansements." 
Your shirt is up around your neck; 
the nurse says: "That's all 
right." 
And as they rip and hack you, 
And with red pepper pack you. 
You hear her softly murmur : "I'm 
dining out to-night." 
— In hospital at Angicourt, August, 
1918. 



"AWAITING TRANSPORTA- 
TION" 

We live in a leaky barrack. 

With mud half way to the knees, 
And those who haven't got cooties, 

Are scratcliing themselves with 
fleas. 
We're afraid to look at our "unders" 

We daren't look at our comb, 
But nobody cares a blinking damn. 

We're all of us bound for Home! 

So pack your kit and mess gear. 
And kiss your girl good-bye. 

The trooper's in the harbor, 
BSbe don't you cry! 

64 



War Verses 1917-1918 65 

Three hundred men on the chow line. 

It straggles up the hill. 
We stand in the rain for an hour 

And the stuff we get is swill. 
The Vin we buy is watered. 

The beer is mostly foam. 
But nobody cares a blinking damn. 

We're all of us bound for Home! 

Our Adjutant's a shave-tail, 

A bomb-proof embusque. 
He raises hell with the soldier man. 

For that's the bomb-proof way. 
The washing we do is sketchy. 

In water the color of loam. 
But nobody cares a blinking damn, 

We're all of us bound for Home! 

There are some of us time-expired. 
And some of us furloughed men. 



66 War Verses 1917-1918 

And some are Class D wounded, 
And two are bound for the i>en. 

And every man in the barrack, 
Swears that he'll never roam. 

Again away from the U. S. A., 
If they'll only send us HOME! 

So pack your kit and mess gear. 
And kiss your girl good-bye. 

The trooper's in the harbor, 
Behe don't you cry ! 

— Fori Bouguen, Brest, December, 1918, 




THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 



